Phantasmatic
by PhoenixAeternum
Summary: H/G. AU. Time travel. Bond fic. Victorious in the final battle but having lost his love, Harry Potter sends back feelings and memories to his eleven year old self, summer before Second Year.
1. Chapter 01: Phantasmatic

**A/N: **_In writing this, I am indebted to Intromit, MaxFic, SSHENRY, Worldmaker, S'TarKan/Viridian, and AlianneOfTortall/Ella, whose works have influenced and inspired the story before you. And of them I ask that, should they read this, they leave me their thoughts. This story is for M.  
_

**Phantasmatic**

**Chapter One**

**Phantasmatic**

Harry Potter awoke on the twenty-fourth of July, 1992 at six forty-three in the morning to the sight of a blinding white light. Startled, he rose from his bed quickly, staring into the light, his phantasmatic state fading in its intensity.

He stared into the light, and he started to dream awake. He was swept away from his small bedroom and into the ethereal, burning light. And he could see… he could see everything. The resurrection of Voldemort, the fall of Hogwarts, of the Ministry, the night and way Dumbledore died, the flight from the burning Burrow…. In an instant, he remembered everything. Every horrible feeling and desperate moment. But with it... Love. He felt it. He was consumed by it.

He saw himself face down Lord Voldemort; he watched himself fall lifeless; he watched himself rise deathless. He saw terror in Voldemort's red eyes, saw the glee give way to maddened horror. He saw himself fight calmly against Voldemort's desperation, saw himself duck, roll, jump, and dodge every curse Voldemort cast his way, and he saw himself silently respond in kind.

He watched as he burnt his own green eyes, years older than he was now, into Voldemort's red. And he watched Voldemort losing his mind. And then he watched as Harry blessed him dead with two words and a flash of light.

He saw memories of broken bodies, of burning bodies, of melting bodies, of death and chaos and heartbreak. He saw Ron Weasley, and his wife Hermione, and a small baby boy – their eyes open and glassy. Dead. He saw Neville Longbottom and his wife Luna holding hands as they turned their wands on themselves rather than be mutilated and tortured by Voldemort's Death Eaters. He saw Percy Weasley, an Inferius, attack his parents, watched him strangle them over his mother's pleas and tears. He watched George Weasley cut in half by Bellatrix Lestrange as his twin writhed into madness at Severus Snape's curse. He watched Charlie Weasley shot out of the sky atop a dragon, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. He watched Bill Weasley and his wife Fleur be pulled apart by black, Inferiused horses. He saw devastation and despair and every ill feeling he thought he could.

But then he saw it, saw her. Ginny. His Ginny. She who had always been his, who always would be. His only one. The only one still with him now from the beginning, the only reason he hadn't turned his wand on himself the night Ron and Hermione died. His heart soared. But…_ No!_ Draco Malfoy had struck her from behind. Had cursed her dead. And she was. And the scene turned and he saw himself, almighty with rage, cast a wall of black flame at Malfoy. He saw him burnt to ashes. And he saw himself fall to his knees and shout to the heavens. He saw the Death Eaters throw down their wands, saw them surrender to his forces. And he saw in his own eyes that it meant nothing.

He saw himself, years older, cast a spell with a slackened face, but with eyes on fire. He saw himself murmuring, his wand swishing, flicking, and waving, jabbing, prodding, and curving. He saw himself cast a spell to return him, to take him back to a time when things might have been able to change, to a time before his own.

And then before him, back in his room, standing in the blazing white light, was a haunting vision of himself, his eyes lost and possessed only by sorrow. His own, older mouth opened and delivered a message:

"Save them."

And then the light consumed him completely. As the specter of his old and defeated self faded, he was infused with the white light of his lost love. And hundreds of miles away, he wasn't the only one.

"Ginny."

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

_Ginny_.

"Harry?" she asked softly of the morning light.

_I'm here._

"…Where is… where is 'here?'"

'_Here' is… nowhere. But it's everywhere too._

"What's happening? Why…?"

_I… there was a light. It woke me up._

"Me too."

_And I… I saw things. Me. And you. And… everyone. I don't know… I don't… I don't know how to tell you what I saw. It's probably easiest to just tell you that… that… I've seen it all. Everything that's… that's going to happen. I've seen it._

_I… I kill him, Ginny_.

They hardly knew each other; they'd never spoken before that day. Not in this life. But he spoke to her like he'd known her for years, with a familiarity borne of long nights together, sleepless nights of comfort and sadness; a familiarity borne of fighting for one another, and only one another; a familiarity borne of such intimate, private, but shared sadness that a bond was forged that couldn't be broken, that lived on after death, that was as eternal as the sky. Yes, he called her by her first name, and easily, but their familiarity extended beyond that. They didn't just know each other's name. They knew each other.

_He comes back. And… And I kill him._

"For me," she said softly, her voice awe-inflected. "I… I remember."

_But it's… it's hazy. It's like a dream, you know? The details are… escaping?... Everything is getting fuzzier. I… I'm sorry. I couldn't save you._

"No," she said, her voice hurting. "Don't be sorry, Harry." She was whispering, and she could feel the back of her eyes tingling.

_I'm so sorry_, and she knew he'd begun to cry. _I'm so… so sorry, Ginny. I tried! I tried so hard…. Your brothers… your parents… and you!_ She heard his voice break, _I'm sorry; I'm so sorry…._

"No, Harry… no." And her voice was tender. "There was nothing you could have done – you couldn't have… have saved me." And then the absurdity of her words struck her. She was talking about her death, about already having died. But she wasn't dead. She was breathing. "I'm not gone, Harry." Her eyes were downcast, her voice quieter than before. "I'm alive."

_I couldn't save you then…._

"You can save me now."

_I'm so sorry…. I've missed you so much…._

"I know. I've missed you too."

_And… And after all these years… I still love you… so much._

His tears had stopped. Hers had begun. "I love you too," she said, a woman's words in a child's voice.

"How did you… how did you come back?" she asked, calming. "It had to be you – I died; I saw it. We both did."

_I don't know – I can't… I can't remember anymore._ He sounded upset. Almost angry._ The memories are fading. I…. I can't remember… specifics… anymore. I remember – feelings. I remember feelings. I know Ron… he died. And Hermione. And… and they had a child. Together? Ron and Hermione? …I didn't see that coming. I thought… Neville, maybe, and Hermione…. She and Ron fight so much!_

Ginny sniffled and smiled. "It's flirting."

_Flirting?_ He was quiet for a moment. _Oh. That's, um…. Yeah. I can see that._ And he smiled. She could hear it.

_I wish I… I wish I could _remember_,_ he said, and he sounded upset._ Everything… it's like I dreamt it. It's disappearing. I know… I can't remember details. I… _he trailed off, and for a moment there was silence in her head.

"Just… don't forget… us," Ginny said softly. She was afraid. Because she was forgetting too, her memories of before. They felt like stories from before, dreams, hypnagogic fantasies; and she could no more hold on to the details than Harry, could no more hold on to the details than she could clutch sand. And if she forgot him, if she forgot what they had, if he did too, then they had nothing. And every reason they had seen the light would be gone. And they would be back to square one.

_I won't forget you_, he said, and he sounded fierce. _I won't forget us. I… I love you. And until now, I wasn't sure that was real. Or… Well… I was. But… the other me. You… know?_

"I do." And she did. "I won't forget how I… feel." She felt almost shame. Shame's shadow. She was ten years old. He was eleven. And they'd declared their love. Magically. It wasn't right. Or it wouldn't have been, to others. And it wouldn't be, when they knew. They would tell them….

_Don't think about that, _he said, and she knew he meant her thoughts. _What we have is… is what we have. And they don't have to understand…. Just… promise me…_ and now he sounded scared and he sounded small, smaller than she'd ever known he could sound, could be; _promise me this is… is real. That I'm not going to wake up and there will be… be nothing. That I'm not going to… to see you… and…. Just promise me I'm not dreaming this… please._

He was eleven. And he was damaged. She remembered that. "I love you." And that was her promise to him, a promise first made five years in the future, ten in the past, a promise that had transcended time and space to hold them together. It was a promise of forever, of something ever and always…. "And I'll never let you go."

He was quiet for nearly a minute. She could feel him. It wasn't quite gratitude and it wasn't quite appreciation. _Thank you_. It might have been love.

"How are we…" she said after a few moments, "talking?"

_I don't know. I just…._ He sighed._ You're here. With me. I don't know how, and I don't know why, and…_ she felt him laugh, _I don't care. _

Ginny smiled and turned on her side in her bed. She stared next to her, and if she squinted her eyes a little, she could swear she saw Harry beside her. But it hurt her to open her eyes; he wasn't there, and she preferred her illusion to the reality which faced her.

XXX-XX-XXXX

_I wish you were here_, Ginny's voice said.

"I wish I was too," Harry responded, whispering at his pillow. "I wish I was there to… to stroke your hair, to… to hold you…" he said softly; these were words beyond his years, feelings and thoughts gifted by the light. He felt shame at his words, shame at the depth of his feelings and the honesty. A single thought, for a moment, ran through his head on repeat: _What would Ron think if he could hear me?_

_Don't think about that, Harry. Don't think about Ron. I don't… I don't want him to know. About us._

For a moment that felt endless, he thought she was ashamed of him. He thought she didn't want Ron to know because she was embarrassed by him, ashamed of him, of who he was and what. For a moment he couldn't himself end, he thought love was not enough to overcome her shame.

_That's – that's not it, Harry!_ Ginny said, stammering. _That's not it at all. I swear. I just… he's not going to understand. And I think he… I think he'll… attack us… for what we feel. And I don't want to feel like I have to defend… us… to him. Or anyone. I… it's – it's selfish, but I want you to myself. I want us to be… to be our… not our secret – that's not what I mean. But what we have is… it's intimate, isn't it? It's… it's personal. And I want it to be ours and no one else's and…. If Mum knew, or Dad, or Dumbledore – what if they tried to… to break _this_, whatever it is? I don't want them to… to interfere. What we have is… ours. And I want to – to always be that way. It's none of… it's none of their business._

Harry felt relief at understanding. She wasn't ashamed of him.

_I could never be ashamed of you, Harry._

"We don't have to tell anyone," he murmured. "Ever."

_It's just…. Part of me thinks, Harry, that if we… if we let other people know… if we let them in, then what we have is… is not ours anymore. Not like it is. And… it's less, if everyone knows…. I… I don't know if you understand what I'm trying to say – it's… it just feels… personal. Us. We're… ours. And no one else's. And I… I don't want to answer questions about it from Ron or my Mum or… anyone. I'm yours… and… I think you're mine. And I don't want to… to defend that._

"I'm yours," Harry whispered, his voice as tender as his words. "I'm always yours. I…. Another me came back for you. And I… love you."

Harry could feel her smile.

"If you left me tomorrow… if we… fell apart… I'd still be yours. And… no matter what happens now… I… I'm always going to have this moment. This morning. Because whatever happens next… now I'm happy. And in love. And… nothing can… no one can take that from me." Harry breathed a heavy breath. "I… I'm going to take this morning to my grave. It's… whatever happens, this moment is… mine. And it'll always be, and I'll always have it, whatever happens…."

**A/N:** _Thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 02: Happy Birthday

**A/N:** _I am touched by the response this story has received so far; it has been greater than I could have dared imagine: So thank you for supporting me. It has been a long time since my words have been in demand. And it feels good. I'm not as pleased with this chapter as the last, but I hope you are._

**Phantasmatic**

**Chapter Two**

**Happy Birthday**

The next week was the most blissful time of Harry's life to that point. Though the Dursleys treated him no better now than before, however horrible they might have been, he had someone in his head, someone all his, someone no one, not even the Dursleys and their ways, could take from him. He had love in his head and love in his heart, and there wasn't a thing they could do to bring him down.

When their bond – as they had taken to calling it – had first been established, they had found themselves able to communicate only when they spoke. And so for the first three days after their 'bond' had been established, they were able to communicate with each other in bed, either at night or in the morning, and else sparsely.

Of however little significance the Dursleys were during this week of Harry's life, he could see no upside to their knowing he had a ten year old girl in his head; and if her family knew she was talking to Harry Potter from hundreds of miles away, Ginny was confident that the Weasleys would have her committed.

On the third night since their bonding, however, they discovered something that would be tremendously useful when they went to Hogwarts in just more than a month's time: If they tried, they could communicate without speaking aloud. It took a degree of concentration, a greater amount, at least, than did vocal conversation, but being able to communicate at any time, undetectably, allowed constant contact, the kind of closeness both longed for.

After discovering their ability to speak nonverbally, they spent nearly every waking moment conversing. In many ways, even without risk of his death being imminent, the days that followed the establishment of the bond were the most intense days of his life.

He had never imagined – except, perhaps, in the quietest of quiet moments, in bed on long nights, looking up at the ceiling and imagining the starlit sky – he might feel the way he did, or, what's more, that someone would feel the way Ginny did for him.

The intensity of what she felt for him and he for her could take his knees out if he let it. _This_ was magic; more than any thing taught at Hogwarts or elsewhere, what he and Ginny shared was magical. It was intense, it was real, and it was theirs and theirs alone. Ginny and what they shared were the most important things in the world to him, and they would be for the rest of their lives.

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

_Happy Birthday, Harry!_ Ginny said in his head, one week since the bond's formation. Ginny had insisted that they stay up until midnight, so she could be the first to wish him a happy birthday. He hadn't had the heart to tell her so far that she would have no competition in the Dursleys.

_Thanks, Ginny_, he beamed. _You're the second person to wish me a happy birthday._

He felt her horror. _But! I can't be – it's minutes after midnight! And there's no one else in your room!_

Harry grinned glumly. _I don't mean today._

The Dursleys were a topic they typically avoided; one facet of their connection was that they had a limited ability to feel each other's feelings – and Ginny felt Harry's reluctance every time his relatives came up in conversation, so usually backed off rather than force a delicate thing.

_Though I suppose you might not be the second. There's Hagrid and there's you, and that's all I remember, but my parents might've said it when I was a baby._

Ginny was silent. And Harry felt a feeling he didn't recognize seeping across their connection.

_Ginny? _Silence. _Ginny?_

And then he heard it: A sob. She was crying.

_Ginny – what's wrong? Can you hear me? Ginny?_

He heard her sniffle. _They've never even told you 'Happy Birthday?'_ she asked. _You're their… their nephew! You're all your aunt has left of her sister, and… and they never said a thing? _Her body was sob-wracked, and if she'd had to rely on speech, there wasn't a chance she'd have choked that out. _They don't…. Don't they love you?_

_No, Ginny. _Harry swallowed._ They don't. _It was amazing that they'd lasted seven days without bringing the Dursleys up for more than a few seconds. But now he had to explain. _They don't like me, and they… they don't love me, Ginny. Not at all. _He swallowed again. _They're not… good people, Ginny. And that's part of… of why I'm so glad I've got you… because now there's… there is someone who… who loves me. And I've… I can't… I can't remember having that, before you._

_Oh, Harry!_ he heard her cry aloud. _How can they – how can they not love you?_ He felt frustration across the bond. _And I can't even hug you!_

_I wish you could_, he said, though he privately suspected she needed the hug more than he did. _I wish…_ he blushed, and wasn't sure whether it was in embarrassment or shame that he did, _I wish you could be here, or that I could be there and that… that I could hold you right about now…. _He swallowed, reddening further. _I think… I think that would be…. That's what I want for my… my birthday. To be with… with you._

He loved her, and only her, and she was the only one who loved him. He wanted only to be with her and nothing more, and it hurt him in ways he couldn't articulate that, now that he had her, he could not be near to her. A future him had cast a spell potent enough to send back thoughts and memories decades into the past, but he had been unable, or unwilling, to send now-twelve year old Harry to her. Loving from a distance was something he found difficult, at times almost unbearable. He loved her, but they had to be apart.

_You're all I want_, he said, _and I know how that sounds and I… I don't care. And I know... I know that it's…. I love you. And that's all I guess I want to say…. I – I love you and I wish I were with you, to hold… to hold you into sleep._ _And I don't care about the Dursleys_, and part of him meant it. _I don't care what they've… they've done_, and they'd done much, _because as long as I have you, they…_ he thought he might drown in the sickly-sweet cheesiness of his own thoughts. _As long as I have you, that's all I need. You're all I need. I… I love you. And if I have you, I don't care about… about things as small as the Dursleys. They can't… they can't hurt me, if I've got you_.

Her tears went on. _I love you_, she said. _And you'll always… have me. For as long as you want me, I'm yours._ _I could – I could never leave. I mean, you… you came __**back**__ for me. You – you sent your memories and your… and your feelings back. Because… because being without me hurt you too much… or it will… or…._ She smiled through tears and she wiped at her nose. _I'm not making any bloody sense._

Harry smiled and hoped she felt it. _It's okay, Ginny. I understand. I do._ Blinking blearily, he was suddenly exhausted, and she was too. _Let's go to bed. We've been up since six._

_Okay, Harry._

_I love you._

_I love you too._

_Goodnight._

_Goodnight, Harry._

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

On the morning of July 31st, Ginny Weasley awoke to the dawning of golden light upon her. _Good morning_, a voice breathed in her awakening world, her eyes not yet even open.

_Good morning, love_, she returned groggily. She didn't notice Harry's smile at the pet name, one she hadn't used with him before – at least, not in this life. _And happy birthday again, _she added, and he was still smiling. With a great yawn, she kicked off her sheets and threw open her curtains, letting the rays of golden light illuminate and engulf her room.

_How'd you sleep?_ Harry asked as she gathered her things for a shower.

_All right, but not long enough_, she smiled.

Guilt-struck, Harry sputtered an apology. _I didn't mean to wake you!_ he insisted.

She laughed. _You didn't – you were the best part of waking up, actually_.

If there was one thing she might have said to banish all guilt and ill-feeling, that was it.

_How did _you_ sleep?_ she asked as she stepped out of her room, clothes underarm.

_My aunt woke me up at five-thirty – apparently Uncle Vernon is having a business partner over for dinner. Aunt Petunia wants me to help get the house ready._

_But it's your birthday!_ Ginny protested, sounding scandalized, even so early in the morning. _Can't she let you sleep in today, of all days?_ she asked, more to herself than him, as she stepped into the unoccupied bathroom that she and her brothers shared.

She sensed his shrug. _It's all right, really. I probably wouldn't have slept much longer anyway. It's going to be a long day, though – I'm to clean every room in the house before the Masons arrive at 5:30. _

_What time is it now?_ Blinking as she began to shower, Ginny realized she hadn't checked a clock that morning.

_A little after nine_. _I'm almost done with the dining room – then all that's left is the kitchen and the bathroom. Oh – and there's the outside, too…._

_You let me sleep 'til nine?_ she asked as she stepped into the falling water.

She sensed Harry discomfort. _Well,_ he said,_ I've kept you up late every night for a week – and we usually wake up pretty early…._

_You didn't _keep me up_, Harry, _Ginny insisted. _If I'd wanted to go to sleep earlier, I would have._

_What about night before last? You were yawning for hours before we went to bed._

_Harry_, she said again, more slowly now, _if I'd wanted to go to sleep, I would have. I like talking with you, even if that means I'm a little tired sometimes._

He accepted that. She could be trusted to make her own choices. But that didn't mean Harry wasn't going to try to make sure she slept more. Hogwarts could be demanding enough without sleep deprivation. He remembered one week in particular, studying for his OWLs when…. Well, now he couldn't remember.

_I don't know why I sent back memories to myself if I was just going to forget them all_, he complained a moment later. _It's a bit useless._

_We haven't forgotten __**everything**__, _she reminded. _There's us – we remember us. How we feel, at least. And you… you remember how I died. And that Dumbledore dies in either your sixth or seventh year. And that… that… __**he**__ comes back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_But I can't remember how!_ Harry exclaimed, frustrated. _He's going to come back, and it's useless if I can't remember how he does it. I mean – if I knew, if I knew he was going to make the Philosopher's Stone out of old Potions texts to bring himself back, then I could just have all the books burnt._

Ginny half-saw an image of a towering inferno of burning books. _…Harry? Did that actually… happen?_

She sensed his pallor. _Yeah. But I was… I was kidding. I – wow. I didn't remember it until just now. Why would someone burn so many books? Maybe he really does come back using Potions textbooks!_

Ginny laughed at him. _No_.

_Yeah, you're probably right… _he agreed with a grin. _But why would someone set so many books on fire? And why couldn't I send myself back fuller memories? I must have known I'd forget – couldn't I have stopped that? I… I kill __**Voldemort**__. I can send thoughts and memories through time! But I can't make them memorable?_

_Maybe it's impossible. Maybe the memories are meant to fade_, Ginny offered. _You sent them back to us, and you probably knew they'd fade. Maybe they have to._

She felt Harry sigh. _Still. How am I supposed to 'Save them' if I don't know how?_

_I don't know._

Harry sighed again. _I'm worthless in the—_

_Sorry, Aunt Petunia_, Ginny heard him say to his aunt across the bond.

_What happened?_

_She doesn't think I'm working hard enough._

_Oh. I'm sorry, Harry_, she said genuinely. She didn't want him to get into trouble with his relatives because she was distracting him. _Do you want me to… to leave you alone, for a little while? So you can clean?_

_**No! **_Harry said, a bit more emphatically than he'd meant to. He sent her a smile. _Sorry – I just – no. Cleaning's bad enough without you gone._

Washing her hair, Ginny smiled. _Then I won't leave._

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

That evening, at around five o'clock, half an hour before the Masons were to arrive, Harry, in the midst of a conversation with his, climbed the stairs and entered the smallest bedroom.

_THEY KEPT YOU IN A CUPBOARD?_ Ginny shouted across the bond, the Weasley temper alive and well in her love for him.

_It wasn't… it wasn't __**that**__ bad, love_, he said lightly, hoping his use of the name might calm her. She was helping her mother in the kitchen, and it wouldn't do for the Weasley matriarch to notice her only daughter was half an inch from murdering a family of Muggles. _It was cozy, really_….

_Because it was a __**cupboard**__, Harry!_

_I know, but… it really wasn't that awful – you have to understand, I didn't really realize that wasn't normal until I was older, so—_

That, apparently, did not soothe her. _That's because the Dursleys are cruel, and they're abusive and – if I ever – __**ever**__ – meet them, I… they'd throw me in Azkaban for the things I'd do to them. They…. I love you! How __**dare**__ they… treat you like a slave! House you in a cupboard! How __**dare**__ they do that to the boy I love? I… I hate them, Harry._

_I know, love. I do too. And one day, I'll leave, and __**we**__ can live together. And I'll never have to see the Dursleys again. One day, when I've… when I've seen to Voldemort, we'll run away together. Like we would have before, in the future, if… if Draco Malfoy had never been born._

_**We**_, Ginny said.

_What?_

_When __**we**__ have seen to Voldemort. You can't do it alone. And I won't let you. Once we're old enough… I'm never going to leave your side. I don't… I wish you were here __**now**__. And once I've got you… I'll never let go._

Harry swallowed. _I won't… I won't want you to._ Part of him was already terrified. She wanted to come with him, when it was time to fight Voldemort. But…. That battle had cost them her life once already. What would he do, now, without her? What would he do without her, now that he has her? She was… she was everything.

But an impish creature, introducing itself in a squeaky voice as Dobby the House-Elf, derailed that train of thought.

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

Albus Dumbledore was a very powerful man. The British Minister for Magic relied on his counsel, he was the head of the oldest institution in Wizarding Britain, and he had displayed feats of nearly unrivaled magical ability, knowledge, and power. He had had a hand in writing dozens of the most important laws in Wizarding Britain, had taught the best and brightest – and worst and dimmest – that the country had to offer.

At twenty-three, he had, nearly alone, uncovered and thwarted a plot to overthrow the legitimate and democratically elected government of Wizarding Britain. At thirty-one, he founded an organization which spearheaded the French revolutionary movement, culminating in the overthrow of the illegal French government two years later. At fifty-two, he became professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Twelve years later, he defeated in battle one who wielded a weapon hailed unbeatable. Nearly four tenths of a century later, he was, and remained, the sole fear of the most powerful wizard on earth.

But the time was coming, and he knew it well, when that title would be passed on. Upon his desk were reports he had commissioned secretly, submitted to him by such varying figures as the head of British Aurors, a young Unspeakable at the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, the American President for Magic, a modest but well-placed British innkeeper, a Spanish vagrant, and a particularly well-connected French witch living in Eastern Europe.

These reports, submitted as commissioned, covered variant tendrils of a common thread: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort. Something had happened, something neither his instruments upon his desk nor his instruments in the field could adequately explain.

Harry Potter had experienced an exponential growth in magical power seven days earlier. There had been the equivalent of a magical explosion at his home in the early hours of the 24th of July, and Albus Dumbledore, for all he was hailed to be, knew nothing of why he would experience such a growth, or why it would manifest itself in the form of a magical explosion.

One week from the day he now found before him, Albus Dumbledore had been awoken in the early morning to a sound which struck a fear like ice into his heart. An alarm, set up to alert him of the failing of the Privet Drive wards, had rung clear. For a moment, and only a moment, the wards that protected Harry Potter at home had fallen.

As soon, however, as he had made it to his desk to take emergency action to protect Harry Potter, the wards reactivated at full-strength. He had immediately gone to the Dursley home to inspect the wards in person, and he found that not only had the wards reactivated themselves, but they now were more powerful than they had been before.

Something had changed. The nature of what was happening had changed. It appeared that Harry's explosion, as best Dumbledore could describe it, had blown away the wards in one instant, only to reconstruct them the next.

Perhaps more worrying than the wards and Mr. Potter's magical explosion, however, was that Lord Voldemort, having just recently returned to the relative safety of the Albanian forests, was said to be in Berlin at this very moment, on his way back to Britain.

Reading the reports before him, Dumbledore suspected that Lord Voldemort was privy to the same information as he himself was; he suspected that the Dark Lord knew of the fallen and revived wards, that he too had detected Harry's unexpected magical growth, though how was a distressing consideration.

Albus Dumbledore, aided by his reports from spies and informants throughout the world, believed the most powerful Dark wizard in history was on his way back to Britain. And, Dumbledore feared, back for Harry Potter.

**A/N:**_ Thoughts?_


	3. Chapter 03: Labyrinthine

**A/N:** _Two lines from this chapter are taken verbatim from __Chamber of Secrets__. I trust you can identify them, and will believe me when I say they're JKR's, not mine._

**Phantasmatic**

**Chapter Three**

**Labyrinthine**

Life behind bars was exactly as Harry might have imagined it – had he imagined it – except for one blessing neither Dobby nor the Dursleys could have undone: He was not alone.

The events of Dobby and the Masons had been two days ago. It was eight-thirty at night, a day and a half since Uncle Vernon had put bars to his windows and locked him in, and the night was blistering hot. It was a strange day, a day that saw little of the sun until it began to set.

And in the heat of the night, he was thrown back, years into the future.

"_GINNY!" he shouted, sprinting down a dark corridor. _

_The passage was labyrinthine. He turned a corner, running as quickly as he could, and fire exploded down the passage behind him, crushing itself against an unyielding face of stone._

"_GINNY!" he shouted again, ducking his head slightly as he ran. The heat of the fire on his back faded as someone drowned the flames. He cursed the Anti-Apparation Ward; if not for it, he could be with her now._

_A green curse flew over his head and slammed into a wall thirty feet ahead of him. "__**AVADA KEDAVRA!**__"_ _he roared, his wand firing over his shoulder. Time had changed him._

_He kept running. The end of the maze had to be near. Inspiration-struck, he turned his head. "__**Mura**__," he whispered heavily, and a stone wall was thrown up behind him. It wouldn't hold the Death Eaters long, but it might buy him a few seconds._

_**Come on!**__ he intoned. __**Come on!**__ This was taking too long. For a moment he cursed himself. He had seen Voldemort fly with his own eyes, but hadn't bothered to learn how the Dark Lord had done it. It could have helped him now. But no – the space was too confined. He'd have flown into something._

"_GINNY!" he shouted again and her name echoed down the corridor beside his footsteps and others'. He didn't care who knew he was coming. She had to know to hold on, whatever was happening to her now. And Harry couldn't think it._

_He turned another corner, still sprinting, and then he saw it: Light ahead. Fire light. He heard an explosion in another direction – the Death Eaters must have broken through his wall. And then there was fire again. Heat exploded behind him, the temperature rising._

"_**Mura**__," he whispered again. If he'd had time, he would have thrown something longer lasting; but time wasn't on his side. He didn't just have to outrun Death Eaters, he had to save his wife. __**Ginny**__..._

_Another explosion rocked the stone corridor. He threw a Blasting Curse over his shoulder and smiled at the sound of a scream. Time had changed him._

_He reached the archway that opened up into the fire room. And there she was, in a semicircle of black-robed Death Eaters, opposite Lord Voldemort himself._

"_**TOM**__!"_

The dream, the memory, the vision – whatever it was – faded, and he was in his room again, no longer racing through dark corridors, lit only by flames and spell-light.

They were shaken, both of them. There could be no denying it. _I don't… I don't even know what… what that was_, Harry said, his eyes wide and sightless and staring. _I…._

Ginny was pale. _I didn't think that's what it would… what it would be like. What it was like._ She swallowed. _Is that how it's going to be? Is that what's going to happen?_

_I.… Ginny, I think we have to write this down._ He was terrified._ If that's what it was… what it was like, we have to remember…. If we can remember… if we can remember how it was, maybe we can… we can stop it._

Ginny was silent for a moment, but he thought he felt her nod. _Do you have parchment and a quill? Or have the Dursleys locked that up with your things?_

_Yeah, it's under the cupboard – but there might be paper and a pen in here, somewhere. Dudley wouldn't have written anything._

Harry got off the bed and fell to his knees, looking underneath his bed for something to write with – a pen, a pencil, a notebook – anything. What he found, beneath his bed, behind a pair of old socks, was something he would never have expected Dudley Dursley to have owned.

It was a small book, blank-paged – a diary, simple and black. _T.M. Riddle_ was written upon its face. And something sent a chill down Harry's spine again.

_There's a diary. It says 'T.M. Riddle' on the front. It's not Dudley's – I'm sure it isn't Dudley's. I think I… I remember it. From before._

Ginny was silent for a moment. _It's familiar_, her voice was hollow and she was scared. _Harry… I think there's something very wrong about that diary. _

He closed his eyes tight and thought back, reaching into his brain.

_I…._ Images flashed in his head.

A monster. A snake, writhing. Stone. A sword. Red. Blood? And then words. Lethal words from a silken tongue.

"_So ends the famous Harry Potter. Alone__in the Chamber of Secrets..."_

Furious words.

"_THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL__HIM. KILL HIM!"_

Thrashing.

And then his room was before his eyes again. He was sweating freely, and he couldn't now blame the heat of the night.

He was breathing deeply now, and he closed his eyes, his head against the side of his bed. _Dobby was right, Ginny_, he said. _Something terrible is going to happen at Hogwarts this year. _

She nodded in silence, and he knew it.

_I think I should write Dumbledore_, he said gravely. They had discussed – briefly – telling someone, and that someone usually was Dumbledore, about their bond, their link, their connection. But privacy had won out before. Now, though, with prophetic visions of a hellish near-future, could they still justify silence?

_Yeah_, she said softly. _I think you should. Or I should – Hedwig's locked up. _

Harry cast a glance at his encaged owl.

_I don't… I'm not wild about him knowing, you know? _Ginny said. _I'd like us to be as private as possible, because I… would anyone understand? Could they? I… Harry, I've never heard of something like us before. __**Never**__, not even in the fairy tales._

_But I… I saw what you did. Just now. I heard that voice. It was young. It had to have been a student, whoever was… was telling the monster to…. Someone at Hogwarts is going to try to… to kill you, Harry. And our privacy isn't worth…. It's not worth keeping quiet if Dumbledore could save you – us. _

_I know, Ginny_, Harry said softly. _I'd rather keep us to ourselves too. At least… this… um… this aspect of us. I know how… how uncomfortable you are with your family knowing. And… and I understand that. And I'm not keen on Ron knowing either. _

_So… so how about __**I**__ write Dumbledore, whenever it is that your brothers get me out of here. Fred and George said they'd do it, right? You've got them convinced?_

She might've smiled, but Harry couldn't be sure. _Yes – they said that if you weren't answering Ron's mail, something was probably wrong, and that they would fly Dad's car out to Surrey if he hadn't heard back from you soon. I think they wanted an excuse to go on a rescue mission more than anything…._

_But I don't know, Harry_, she said quietly. _Dumbledore needs to know… soon. And if the twins don't go after you until… I don't know… the middle of the month… what if it's too late by then? What if your… __**our**__ vision – what if it's in September? On the first day? What if Dumbledore would need three weeks to stop things, and because we wait, he only gets two, and everything…. What if Dumbledore doesn't have enough time to stop it? Time is… 'Time is of the essence_,' she said, quoting another's favorite phrase. _He needs to know as soon as we can tell him_.

Harry smiled ruefully. _Then I hope the twins spring me soon._

_I think you should remember – that we both should remember, really – that, well, I got by once, right? Whatever it is that's going to happen this year, with the Chamber of Secrets, I lived long enough to… to kill Voldemort in my twenties. Or what looked like my twenties…. If I could do it once, I can do it again. _

She didn't buy his optimism, and he didn't either. But someone had to say it.

Recalling his original purpose, Harry opened T.M. Riddle's diary and scribbled a few lines in it.

_Chamber of Secrets. Monster. __**Mura**__. Voldemort. Fire. Death Eaters. __**Confringo**__. __**Adeva Kavedra**__._

The ink sunk into the pages.

And disappeared.

_Something's happening, Ginny…._

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

"Lucius Malfoy has been acting more pleased with himself than usual. I believe he's done something, or – more probably – is doing something, on behalf of the Dark Lord."

"Can you get closer?"

"I doubt it. Lucius doesn't invite me to his dinner parties as often now as he used to; you know my reputation at the Ministry."

"I do."

"Now that he's courting the Minister so aggressively, he can't chance being too closely associated with his old friends."

"Is he keeping Crabbe and Goyle near?"

"No; he seems to have cast them off as well.

"It would be wise, I think, to use one of his House Elves as eyes and ears. I ask your permission to use the Imperius Curse on one."

"You have it.

"Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you."

**XXX-XX-XXXX**

At two-thirty in the morning on August the third, Harry Potter awoke to the sounds of metal and his name spoken.

"Harry?"

The night had been hot again; it was lucky, or he might have closed his window before falling into sleep. As it was, the window was open, and he heard the voice.

Rolling out of bed, he knew it was time. "Fred? George?"

"George, actually; Fred's driving." Fred turned in the driver's seat and waved with a cheerful grin. "Here – be a mate and attach these to the bars," George said, handing him a pair of yellow straps with metal hooks on the end.

Harry did so. _They're here, Ginny_, he said, unsure if she was awake or asleep.

"Hello, Harry." Ginny was in the seat next to Fred. And she was beaming at him.

He wasn't sure he'd ever smiled so broadly in his life. "Hello, Ginny."

"Yeah, yeah, very sweet," George said, "making eyes with my sister – but grab this one too, and hook it around the other bar; you two can cuddle later." Harry, blushing, attached the last hook. "Great – now stand back. This is the loud part where bits fly."

Harry jumped back, watching Ginny watch him. _You look wonderful_, he said simply.

She smiled a little more at him. _Yeah, if you like tired-looking girls with their hair in buns._

_What?_

_Nevermind, Harry. _She laughed. _You don't look so great, on the other hand. _

_Well I just woke up – so that's not fair._

Suddenly there was a great revving of the Anglia's engine, then another, and another, and then, with a great crunching sound, the bars – along with some of the wall – was torn away.

For a moment, Harry stood absolutely silent, listening for any sounds at all from the rest of the house. But there were none – not even a cough or snore was audible.

_Did they hear anything?_

_I… I think they're still asleep. There would be shouting, if they'd heard._

Fred parallel parked beside the house, put the car in park, and Ginny crawled over onto the back seat. Opening the driver's side door slightly, she and George crossed the gap from the car to Harry's window and entered the room.

"Hello," Harry said in a loud whisper. "And welcome to my room."

George cracked a smile and Ginny resisted the urge to throw her arms around him.

Harry suddenly felt his stomach fall to the floor. "All my stuff – my trunk, my wand, everything – is locked in my cupboard under the stairs." He didn't notice his slip. "And they've locked me in here – we can't get to it."

George grinned widely this time. "Don't worry about that." He turned. "Fred!" he said in a stage whisper. "Get in here – we've got to get his trunk up the stairs, and he still has to pack."

A moment later and Fred was in the room too, the Anglia idling above the garden.

"You two pack what you want from here – socks, jumpers, trousers, whatever – and we'll take care of your trunk. Come on, Fred."

They pulled two pins out of their trouser pockets and got to work on the door. A moment later, their was a small click and the doors opened. "Be back in a moment."

"Mind the third stair from the bottom!" Harry whispered desperately: he had only just remembered. "It creaks!"

Thumbs up and they were gone.

Ginny threw her arms around him, and he returned the embrace. _You don't know how good it is to see you_, she said.

_I think I've got an idea_. He breathed in, then laughed lightly in her ear. _You even smell nice._

She grinned into his shoulder. _Of course I smell nice – I'm a girl._

After a reluctant moment, they broke apart. "Fred and George are good at what they do – they'll be back in a minute. Do you have a bag? Something we can pack?"

"Yeah, actually," Harry said, crossing the room and picking up an old sports back Dudley never would have found useful. He and Ginny then started throwing things in.

After perhaps a minute, Ginny grabbed the diary by Harry's bed. "This too?" she asked, holding it up and feeling like someone had knocked her breath out.

He nodded. "Yeah," he said gravely. "Dumbledore has to see it."

Since the first night, Harry hadn't written in it. There was something very, very wrong with the diary; and with the way Tom Riddle wrote back, Harry suspected Dark magic. Ginny had reminded him of one of her father's sayings: _Don't trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain_.

"Okay."

"All right, you two?" asked one of the twins in a stage whisper as they re-entered his room, a hand clutching either handle of his trunk. "Give us a second to back the Anglia in and we'll put this thing in the boot, then we're gone."

Harry nodded, his sports back filled with old clothes and a diary. With a zip, he closed it and one of the twins got in the car and backed it in. They were quick in that thing.

"Give us a hand, Harry," the remaining twin said and they put the trunk and sports bag in the boot. "Great, we're done." He closed the boot.

And then Hedwig screeched. And everything went to hell. "_Quiet_!" Harry entreated of the bird. "They'll hear you!"

And they had. They had missed the crunching sound of a wall forcibly removed; but Vernon Dursley was apparently incapable of sleeping through an owl's screech.

"_THAT BLOODY BIRD!_" boomed a voice from beyond the door.

"Shit," swore the twin still in the room. "Wands out, Harry."

Harry felt ice into his heart. He'd heard that before. He couldn't remember where, but it hadn't ended well then.

"Just do it – we won't use them if we don't have to," said the twin, misjudging Harry's look.

"Right," he said solemnly, and he pulled his wand – the only thing he'd grabbed from his trunk before they'd stowed it away – out of his trouser pocket.

"You too, Ginny," the twin said, and the small girl complied, pulling out an old wand.

His door, no longer locked, flung open without restraint.

For a moment, Vernon Dursley stood, mad-eyed, before them, framed against the door and looking to charge like a bull.

"I'm leaving, Uncle."

The car parallel parked beside them. "Get in, Ginny," said one of the twins. She did as he told.

"My name is Fred Weasley, Mr. Dursley, and Harry will be staying with me and my family for the rest of summer."

"HE BLOODY WILL _NOT_!" The enraged man took three steps forward, aiming, by the look in his eye, to knock their teeth in.

"He _bloody_ will, Mr. Dursley," Fred said. Harry would have found it hard to imagine this just moments before. Fred Weasley, one half of the most infamous and celebrated pranking duo in the history of Hogwarts, standing, his wand raised at a Muggle, his voice deadly serious.

"Get in, Harry," he said, his eyes and wand both trained on Uncle Vernon. Harry, like Ginny before him, did as he was told, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

"You keep your nephew caged in his room like an animal. You put bars on his window like a convict. We're taking him, and if you come an inch closer, I'll curse you," Harry heard Ginny's brother say. All three of the car's human occupants sat still, with faces of stone, hearing and watching Fred Weasley stare and shout down Vernon Dursley.

"You'll not harm me with that – that _thing!_ You've got laws against it! I know – _he_ broke them!"

And Vernon took another few steps, charging at Fred, who didn't use his wand.

"You're right."

He lowered his shoulder for a moment, pulled back his arm, and threw a punch so hard into Uncle Vernon's face that it knocked him to the floor.

Fred got into the car, crawled over into the front passenger's seat, and with a roar of cheers, George took off into the night, leaving behind the Dursleys and a bloodied Vernon.

"That was _amazing_, mate!" Harry shouted to Fred as the Anglia flew into the clouds.

Fred smiled. "He had it coming eventually; honestly, bars on your window? Muggles are animals."

"They're not all," Harry said quickly. "Just this family of them."

"Right," Fred said, his cheeks red either from embarrassment, shame, or the heat of what had just happened. "That's what I meant – I know they aren't all. Dad loves them, and we're not like the Malfoys. They really do think Muggles are animals."

Harry nodded, understanding, and sunk into the backseat, Ginny beside him. "Thank you, all three of you," he said. "They weren't going to let me back."

_And thank you especially_, Harry said to Ginny. _Without you, I'd have gone mad weeks ago, and would've never gotten out of there. So… so thank you, love_. He let his hand fall onto the space between him and Ginny, and she took it.

_You don't have to thank me_, she said with a genuine, if sleepy smile. _I've got you now_.

_Yes,_ he said. _Yes, you do_.

Not long later, he and Ginny fell asleep, closer and closer in their sleep, until they were leaning against each other, their hands still joined.

"Mum'll have kittens," said Fred, looking in the rearview mirror back at the slumbering couple.

"Not if we get back to the Burrow in time."

"I meant about those two," he said. "Look."

George turned in his seat and grinned. "Do you know how much fun this is going to be?"

Fred grinned back.

"The most."


	4. Chapter 04: Try Not to Breathe

**Phantasmatic**

**Chapter Four  
Try Not To Breathe**

Harry awoke in the predawn hours of the morning to the sight of blackness in what normally was a violently orange room. Noting the darkness, he gave a sigh and shut his eyes, hoping to drift back to sleep, back to dreams.

He had come to the Weasley home two weeks earlier, rescued by the Weasley twins and their sister, the one he loved. They had flown to his home in an enchanted Ford Anglia in the dead of night and the foursome had made it back to the Burrow before the breaking dawn.

The four of them had concocted a cover story, with Fred and George the main weavers of their web of lies, that Harry had taken the magical Knight Bus to Ottery St. Catchpole after breaking out of his bedroom at the Dursleys'. And Molly Weasley, however off-guard she might be caught by his appearance, could never deny her home to a refugee, particularly one so young.

That the next day found Fred, George, and Ginny all exceptionally and – to Mrs. Weasley – inexplicably tired did not seem to catch her notice.

But what was important was that he was free of the Dursleys; whatever shame he felt for his imposition was banished after only a few short hours at the welcoming Weasleys' home. They had set him up in Ron's bedroom, fed him better than he'd eaten, even than at Hogwarts, and treated him like one of the family.

But it was not for this reason that the month of August was the happiest Harry could remember. For though familial affection was something he had always lacked, and something in which he reveled fully now, it was the presence of Ginny Weasley that filled his heart with love and joy, the euphoria coursing through his veins with every beat of his young heart.

They walked a fine line together, teetering between spending not enough time together to sate their desire for the other's company and spending so much as to rouse Ron's ever-near-present envy. Ron's jealousy simmered just beneath the boiling point, but it was always there; and it was Harry and Ginny's constant task to keep his envy from boiling over. A fight within the family was something neither Ginny nor her Harry wanted, not during their de facto honeymoon.

From the first day he arrived, Harry and Ginny had tried to be inclusive, to involve Ron in almost all their activities, from de-gnoming the garden to just sitting around and talking. But Ron had been leery from the start; he couldn't understand, and they couldn't explain, why one desired the other's company, so often and to such a degree.

Ron had a habit of begging off the activities Harry and Ginny tried to include him in, which contributed to Ron's feelings of being left out; it didn't matter that the only obstacle to Ron's inclusion was Ron himself, he felt left behind.

There were, however, some things that Ron had to be left out of, and they usually involved a late-night rendezvous.

The third night Harry spent at the Burrow, Harry and Ginny resolved to write to Professor Dumbledore about the diary and Dobby's warnings.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I'm sorry to bother you over the summer holidays, sir, but something odd happened on my birthday, and I don't know who else to turn to about it._

_I live with my uncle, aunt, and cousin, sir, and they're all Muggles, but on my birthday a House-Elf named Dobby showed up in my room. He warned me about some things that I don't want to put in a letter if I don't have to, sir, and I think he left something behind – it's a magical object, sir, something that isn't mine. And the Dursleys – my cousin, aunt, and uncle – certainly wouldn't own anything like this. I think you need to see it, sir. _

_I'm staying with the Weasley family right now, sir. Ginny Weasley says you know where she and her family live, so if you could come see me, sir, I would appreciate it. I think you need to see this object, sir. And I need to tell you what Dobby the House-Elf told me. _

_Please write me back letting me know if you can see me._

_Thank you._

_Harry Potter_

_Second-Year_

He and Ginny had sent the letter along to Hogwarts with Hedwig that night, but it was another four days until the Headmaster replied.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I am afraid I will be very busy for the next week with preparations for the coming year and with a few matters that have come before the Ministry in the last days, but I feel it important that we meet. If it is agreeable to you, I will come to the Weasley home on the sixteenth at noon to discuss what is troubling you._

_With best wishes,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry had scribbled a reply thanking the Headmaster and confirming the time and date of their meeting. A week. It was a long time for something that made Harry and Ginny so anxious, but Albus Dumbledore was a very important and very busy man; he couldn't just drop whatever it was that required his attention because a second-year asked him to, however important the second-year, however urgent the need.

However cautious they might have been with their time, however much care they might have put in to including Ron, however, he _was_ jealous. Harry could see it in his eyes when he was around Ginny, and he'd started acting rather nastily toward her in some fit of misplaced frustration and anger.

Ron, Harry and Ginny reckoned, would like to see the two spend no time together at all, with him or without him; it saddened Harry, put a feeling he wasn't familiar with in the pit of his stomach. But he wasn't going to give up Ginny, how ever much Ron might like him to.

It was the realization of this which kept him from falling back into the arms of sleep. Ginny meant more to him than Ron, who had been his first and best friend. He and Hermione were close, but Ron was his mate in a way Hermione never could be. But now Harry was willing to throw his friendship with Ron into jeopardy for Ginny; now Harry was choosing Ginny over Ron.

He was right to, he was sure, but that didn't help his conscience. Ron had thrown himself to potential death for him the year before; he had gone after Quirrell with him, and if it hadn't been for his talent for Wizard's chess, then Lord Voldemort would have risen again that night, immortal, invincible; and Harry, surely, would be dead.

But Ginny was in a different league. He loved her and she him. They shared things, intimate things, that Harry could never share with Ron. Never, not even if the stars were falling to the earth. Ginny knew his secrets, and he knew hers, not because one had stumbled on the memories of the other or had needled out a confession, but because they wanted to share themselves with the other, their hopes and dreams and memories. And that was a degree of intimacy that transcended friendship and fraternal love.

It wouldn't be easy, but Ron would have to deal with it, or else walk away.

Harry sat up, tossed his legs over the side of his bed, and ran a hand through his thoroughly messy black hair with a sigh. He wasn't getting back to sleep tonight. With another discontented sigh, Harry rose from his bed, went out the door, and descended the stairs to the Burrow's main room.

Plopping himself onto the couch a few moments later, he stared into the empty fireplace, contemplative. Today was the day Dumbledore was going to come round the Burrow. Guilt and anticipation kept him up tonight. There was Ron to feel guilty about – and Harry still hadn't told Mrs. Weasley that Professor Dumbledore was going to come by. She'd probably have dragons when she saw him strolling up to their door.

Harry continued to stare glumly, both wishing Ginny was awake and glad that she wasn't; they had a penchant for late-night talks, and while that suited them fine in the short-term, too many nights of not enough sleep had begun to take its toll on her. And on him as well, she insisted, but he ignored that; he'd be fine.

"It's a bit late to be down here, Harry," a voice Harry recognized as Percy Weasley's said from behind him. Harry turned on the couch to face the boy.

"Same is true for you, Percy."

The older boy gave a half-grin. "What brings you down here tonight, Harry?"

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

Percy sat down on the couch beside Harry and nodded. "That's my story," he said. It seemed then that his face became sharper, more angular. "Can I ask you something, Harry, something none of my business?"

He nodded.

"What is my sister to you?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, unsure where this was going.

"Is she your friend, or is there something more?"

Harry was silent, considering.

"Is she your girlfriend, Harry?"

"I…. We haven't put it in those… in those terms." He took a breath. He steadied himself. He wasn't nervous, he wasn't fearful; but how was he to explain? "But I guess she is. She… um…. We mean a lot to each other." That was the simplest way to put it. "She means a lot to me. In a way Ron doesn't, and Hermione doesn't. But we're…. She turned eleven just a couple of days ago, and I've only just turned twelve." He swallowed. "We're a little… young, you know? To be… _that_. To be together."

Percy nodded, his lips pressed in a twisted smile. "You are very young," he said. And it must have been the peculiarity of the night that allowed him to say what he said next. "But age has no say in love, Harry." He had a look in his eye. "And if you were to… decide that's what you want – what both of you want… well, for what it's worth, you've got my blessing."

"Thank you, Percy," Harry said after a moment, considering Percy, himself, and the situation. The words were odd to say, but he didn't know what else _to_ say; he didn't imagine it was often that an older brother's blessing was offered a potential courtier. "But I don't think we're… I don't think we're there yet."

"No," Percy smiled. "I don't suppose you are." His air changed. "I know Ron has been less than… supportive – shall we say – of the closeness you and Ginny share; he doesn't understand it yet, but he will. He'll come around; he just needs time to adjust to the idea that his annoying little sister means as much to his best mate as he does himself."

"I wish he would," Harry said. "Come around, that is. And sooner, rather than later. You know… well, you know what happened at the end of last year. That doesn't get… wiped away. He's like a brother to me, your brother."

"A comrade in arms," Percy supplied with a frown. "I –"

"If there had been another way, Percy," Harry interrupted, his voice graver than usual. Deeper, slower. "If there had been another way, if we could have waited for help, we would have."

"You have to understand, Harry," Percy said with a nod. "It's not that I don't trust your judgment; it's not that I doubt you; it's only that Ron is my brother. And he is young, and he is inexperienced, and by rights, Harry, the three of you should have died down there."

Harry could nod to that. "By rights."

"So, Harry, the other thing I must ask this night…."

"Ah," Harry said lightly, giving a curt nod. H knew where this was going.

"You have a talent for risky situations, Harry. They flock to you like wolves; and you survive them, sure, and you endure, Harry." Percy paused. "But your… your comrades in arms, Harry, they might not always be so lucky. Nor of course might you," he added thoughtfully, "but I have never had a sense, Harry, that you were one who needed much looking-after."

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He _had_ been in his share of bad situations – Dursleys, snakes, Voldemort, the Forbidden Forest, Quidditch – but he never walked away from a single one of them with any confidence in his ability to withstand whatever might next come his way.

"_You_ endure, Harry," Percy said, and the way his voice shifted, sounding more forceful, more… more subtextual, like there was something beneath his words he was trying to convey in a way both maddeningly cryptic and unreasonably reassuring. "_You_ endure. But…. But Harry, I must ask you, as a brother – and she _is_ my only sister – that you shield Ginny from every danger you can, even against her will.

"She is young, Harry, and… and as you've said, you mean much to one another. I have to ask you, Harry, to do all in your power to ensure my sister does not have to endure; that she does not find herself in any circumstance to _need_ to endure." Percy paused again. "Please, Harry. Let her only concerns at Hogwarts be about homework and detention and Professor Snape's shampoo."

"I…" Harry was at a loss. What was he to say to such a thing? Percy was right, of course; and every bit of him wanted quite the same thing. Harry wanted better for his Ginny than he had for himself. He didn't want her to worry about death, hers or anyone's; he didn't want her to wonder if she would see her parents again, or Harry's own face. But trouble found him, and now so had Ginny. If she was insistent, if he had to run off to save someone or some_thing_ and she demanded on coming, how could he, in good faith, deny her, when his only wish, were roles reversed, would be to do the same for her?

"I know it goes against your instincts, Harry," Percy said, his voice understanding, his eyes tired behind horn-rimmed glasses. "I know replacing Ginny's will – and should anything happen, should you have to run off to save the world or some such thing, I'm sure she would insist on joining…. I know ignoring what she herself wants goes against your nature. It's part of why I give you my blessing. You care enough for her; more than most my age, more than any yours.

"But she is young, and so are you. And there are times when what we want for ourselves is not enough. Ginny will want to help you, should it come to that, should you come to the point of needing help. Harry…. Harry, I must ask you to disregard her wishes in that situation. Harry, you must ignore her. Even if it means hurting her. You must not let her be endangered."

Harry held his breath and tried not to breathe. This wasn't something he liked. This conversation, which had begun so well, which had remained so well until this demand, was too much for him, or nearly so. But a part of him, a vocal part, a wise part, knew that there were times when what we most wanted was what was worst for us; somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was echoing Dumbledore.

And so with his face steeled, his heart reluctant, he nodded his head, his eyes downcast, his face turned away from the other in the room. "I will do what I can."

"_All_ you can."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "All I can," he allowed.

"Thank you, Harry."

He nodded again. And in the darkness of that room, in the dead of that night, an alliance, an understanding, was formed.

For the greater good.

**A/N:** _I know, I know; it's been awhile. Can't we all just rally around the fact that there is a new chapter now and forget the past? Don't ask when the next chapter will come out – I honestly have no idea. Please leave me with your thoughts._


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